


something out there

by marvellingyou (tourmalinex)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes-centric, Creampie, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, First Time, Hopeful Ending, Identity Issues, Love Confessions, M/M, Nightmares, Not Canon Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Riding, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Sweet Steve Rogers, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25256116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tourmalinex/pseuds/marvellingyou
Summary: He immediately opened it to a picture he got from the museum. It wasn’t as if there was anything special about this picture in particular. It was one of thousands. Anyone could get a picture of Captain America. But he wanted a reminder that maybe, just maybe, he was more than a ghost story. Maybe he mattered.Or, in which Bucky Barnes tries to piece himself together and at the end of the day, everything comes back to Steve Rogers.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 19
Kudos: 224
Collections: Marvel Undercover 2020





	something out there

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bangyababy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangyababy/gifts).



> For Marvel Undercover 2020!  
> Prompt: #S20, Staying Up by The Neighbourhood, prompted by bangyababy 
> 
> I love The Neighbourhood and this song in particular, so I was happy to snag it while it was free!

Another nightmare brought him out of sleep. He had hoped the sheer exhaustion from work and lack of sleep would take its toll and he’d knock out. But their faces and voices haunted him. Every shrill laugh of a child at play warped into a scream, begging to live. He peeled away from his mattress and sat up, skin slick with sweat, drenching his shirt and sheets. After a few deep breaths—In. One. Two. Three. Out. One. Two. Three—he felt the courage to keep his eyes open. The sun had yet to rise, and nothing but the streetlamps dimly illuminated his small apartment through the faded, newspapers taped against the window. Slowly, he got up and flicked the light switch, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light. 

He padded over to his dresser, hands trembling as he opened one of the drawers. It had several notebooks, spilling over with scribbles and sketches. He couldn’t rely on his memories alone—if they were even memories at all. Sometimes, he wondered if they were wishes, what he desired his life to be. The first notebook was mostly repetitions. 

I’m alive. 

I’m alive.

I’m alive.

He wasn’t sure of his name.

He wasn’t sure of who he was before HYDRA.

He wasn’t sure of who he was at this moment.

But he knew he was alive. There was a man in the back of his head, screaming to live.

_ I’m alive _ .

So he moved from place to place, fled from the United States, and traveled to Europe. The Winter Soldier was a ghost. James Buchanan Barnes was dead. 

That left Bucky. And who the hell was Bucky?

The day after the Helicarriers crashed into the river, he visited the Captain America exhibit, searching for answers. That man. Captain America. Steven Grant Rogers.  Stevie? He called him Bucky, and he wanted to know why.

And then, he saw his own face, looking at that man as if he were the only thing that mattered in the world. They both looked younger. They were  _ new _ . But the men on the reels no longer existed. The man on the bridge didn’t have the same shine to his eyes. And Bucky… as far as he knew, Bucky was gone.

_ I’m alive. _

So maybe his best bet was to discover who he was. He landed in the United Kingdom, traveled to France, ventured through Germany, to Italy, and somehow, now, Bucharest, Romania. Courtesy of an old HYDRA safehouse, he found IDs and passports, allowing him to live under a new name. He found a job at a warehouse, an apartment, and occasionally wandered the streets, keeping his head down. 

He grabbed a pen, gripping tightly as he flipped through his latest notebook to a fresh page. After jotting down his nightmare, he put the notebook away in favor of an older one. He immediately opened it to a picture he got from the museum. It wasn’t as if there was anything special about this picture in particular. It was one of thousands. Anyone could get a picture of Captain America. But he wanted a reminder that maybe, just maybe, he was more than a ghost story. Maybe he mattered. 

_ I’m alive _ .

★ ★ ★

~~ He ~~ Bucky read somewhere that plums could improve memory. On his way back home, he walked by a farmer’s market and picked up a few plums, among other things for dinner. If it weren’t for the vendor calling out to him, he wouldn’t have noticed that he was licking his lips, imagining his teeth sinking past the thin purple skin and the fresh sweetness bursting in his mouth. Having a normal—and quite frankly, boring—conversation about the weather and the ripe fruit was a minor joy. Bucky’s nerves were wracked the entire time, mainly in fear that somehow, the vendor would recognize him. But in the end, he was fine and got to go home with a bounty of food. All he had eaten up until then were protein-filled bars and drinks, with the occasional sweet treat so this was a nice change.

As he approached his apartment, a sense of unease scratched at him, pricking at his fingertips. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t place it. Bucky willed each step to be quiet as he pressed his ear against his front door. He heard rustling from inside his apartment, the creak of the wooden floors filling him with dread. He knew his days of peace would be numbered, but he hoped that he could have even one more day before being found. What would they do to him? Would he be reduced to nothing but a weapon once more? Or would he be treated  _ worse _ ? Or— 

When did he dig out his keys and open the door?

The door barely made a sound as it pushed open.  He sucked in a breath, taking in the sight. 

He was there.

Not Captain America.

Not the Sentinel of Liberty.

Steven Grant Rogers.

Steve Rogers.

Stevie.

_ Steve _ was there.

Steve was  _ there _ .

Steve must have heard Bucky, because he turned around to face him. He didn’t wear anything special. A jacket, a t-shirt, and jeans. He could easily blend into the crowd and as long as no one stared too long, Steve could go undetected.

Bucky stared hard. He was right. This Steve was different from the pictures. This man was tired, too.

“I know you’re scared,” Steve said, holding his hands up in front of him. There was a bittersweetness in his voice. “You’ve got every right to be.”

Bucky gulped, unsure of what this man thought of him. His mouth was going dry and his grip on his grocery bags loosened.

“I don’t do those things anymore,” he blurted out, like he needed to prove himself worthy.

“I know.”

How? Bucky’s eyes shifted, scanning through every inch of his apartment. Had he been watching Bucky this entire time? If so, he couldn’t have done it alone.

“No one knows I’m here. It’s just us. If you don’t feel safe, you can pat me down. I don’t have any weapons. I don’t even have a cell phone on me.” He turned out his pockets, revealing them to be empty. Steve didn’t seem to have a bag with him either. 

“That’s a terrible strategy,” he said bluntly. Why was Steve  ~~ always ~~ so careless and stupid? 

Steve offered a small smile. “I just want to help you, Buck.”

“I don’t do those things,” he repeated as his head ached. 

“That doesn’t mean you’re not hurting.” Steve swayed, as though to take a step forward, but didn’t actually move. He waited, looking to Bucky for permission. “Is it alright if I sit down?”

Bucky nodded, making the first move by setting the bags on the table and pulling out a chair for himself. Steve soon followed suit, sitting across from Bucky. He kept his hands on top of the table, for Bucky to see at all times.

“I… um.” Steve cleared his throat. “I have nightmares every night. If I don’t wake up screaming, my heart is hammerin’ away in my chest. I don’t… I don’t like bright lights, either. When I first got a cell phone, I forgot to turn the flash off and I gave myself a panic attack.” He smiled weakly, eyes crinkling at the corners. “It was a little pathetic.”

Bucky didn’t think so, but he nodded and listened anyway.

“And then I have dreams about you.”

_ Y’know, sometimes I think you like gettin’ punched, punk. _

_ Jerk. _

“The Howlies.”

_ Hey, Sarge. You look like shit. _

_ Like your mug is any better. _

“Peggy.”

The dame in the red dress. The way she looked at Steve like he was hers always unsettled him.

“You’re all telling me it’s time to go back home, and I don’t know what home is anymore.”

“Home,” he said, testing out the word in his mouth. “We… we lived together, didn’t we?”

Steve’s smile became earnest. “Yeah, we did. You moved in a few months after ma died.”

He could picture it. Steve was smaller in what memories he  _ could _ recall. The apartment they shared was a little bigger than the one they were currently in, and they definitely had a better assortment of things. For one, they had an actual bed frame. They had a couch, a kitchenette, and a bedroom.

Bucky did his best to avoid Steve’s gaze for fear of having to talk. What was there to say? He knew Steve was trying to connect, to empathize, but they were so different from one another. And he needed Steve to understand this.

“The noise doesn’t stop,” he admitted. “I can still hear them screaming and I see their faces. I don’t deserve help.”

_ Who could forgive you? _

_ You don’t deserve this. _

“Of course you do.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m a  _ monster _ . I—”

“—didn’t have a choice. You weren’t in control.”

“But it was still me. I still did it.” 

Why couldn’t Steve understand? Both of his hands would be stained with blood forever. He left a trail of terror, grief, and mourning with every step he took, with every bullet fired. He sculpted the century, and there was no undoing it. He didn’t deserve mercy. He didn’t even deserve pity. There would be a special place in Hell for him to burn. No amount of good could outweigh the bad.

Steve leaned back in his chair, at a loss for words. Maybe he knew that he couldn’t convince Bucky, even if he thought differently.

“Why did you pull me out of the river?”

Bucky’s stomach lurched at the memory. That was easily one of the most horrifying days in his life. Immediately, he could feel the heavy, wet tactical gear weighing him down as he dragged Steve out. Each step was heavier than the last—it was a struggle to the shore of salvation. Steve was his saving grace, undoing decades of HYDRA manipulation with a few words.

_ I’m with you ‘til the end of the line. _

In that moment, Bucky realized how close he was to destroying the most precious thing he swore to protect. Of all the crimes he committed, nearly killing Steve almost broke what little humanity he had left. But he couldn’t say that, because he knew how Steve would react. Steve would forgive him, even though he couldn’t forgive himself.

He swallowed thickly. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice small, hoping Steve would just leave it. But sure enough, the stubborn shit wasn’t going to let it go.

“Yes, you do.” Steve’s voice had all the confidence in the world. “You know me, and I know you.”

“You… I…” Bucky couldn’t finish. He remained silent, mind flooding with that day playing over and over again. He wanted to apologize, but where would he even start?

“I’m gonna head back to the States tomorrow.”

Bucky’s head snapped up in attention as he tried to hold a straight face, hoping to whatever god willing to listen that his face wouldn’t betray him.

_ So soon? _

“I won’t force you to come with me, but think about it?” Steve stood up from his seat. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay.”

Bucky saw the honesty in his eyes. “… that’s it?” 

His stomach twisted, mouth tasting sour. Isn’t this what he wanted? Didn’t he want to be left alone, to do everything on his own? And yet every fiber of his being was screaming for him to move. He let Steve go before. His soul couldn’t bear to make the same mistake.

“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. It’s your choice, Buck.”

“My…” 

Bucky stared at the floor. Of course it was his choice. He didn’t escape because he was forced to. So then why did hearing it from someone else sound so strange?

“My door will always be open. But if this is where you want to be, then you should stay here.”

He didn’t remember Steve leaving his apartment. All of a sudden, it was as if Steve never visited at all. Maybe he dreamt this whole thing up. Maybe he’d wake up to find that it was still night, that he never bought any fruit and that Steve never found him. Did he want to be found?

Bucky stared up at the ceiling he’d grown accustomed to. What  _ did _ he want? Definitely not forgiveness, not absolution. The vacancy within him could never be replaced, only eased. But there was an ache, an emptiness in his chest that he wanted to fill. The realization bloomed slowly as minutes turned into hours. 

_ I’m alive _ .

Maybe he, too, a former weapon, could have desires festering within him. He regretted not asking Steve to stay. It was a familiar longing, a longing that began before the stars were sewn into the sky.

It was a love that burned into his bones and burrowed into his soul, to be nestled there, forever.

★ ★ ★

He was on a plane bound for Washington D.C. Once they made their descent onto the tarmac, Bucky second-guessed himself. He wanted this. Steve wanted this. If Steve didn’t want this, he wouldn’t have followed Bucky to Bucharest. And yet he had such doubt. What if Steve just wanted to turn Bucky in, even if not of his own volition? The Avengers, Congress, the president—what if they sent Steve to lure him out of hiding? As soon as that thought popped into his head, Bucky was consumed by guilt. He should know better than that. Steve wasn’t that kind of man.

Steve had slipped a scrap of paper on Bucky’s dresser, address hastily written on it. 

_ Just in case _ , he wrote. 

From the look of it, Steve lived in the same apartment since  _ that _ time. Bucky was sweating bullets as he pulled on his baseball cap, obscuring his face. This was crazy. He was surviving in Bucharest. He didn’t need to hide as much as he was now. 

But deep down, he knew he needed to do more than survive.

_ I’m alive _ .

Aside from the super shuttle, Bucky decided it was best to avoid public transportation and evade as many security cameras as possible. It was a bit of a challenge, given that Bucky had limited supplies. All he had was a beat-up hiking backpack filled with his notebooks, some treasures he collected and the clothes on his back. His primary concern was to plan a point of entry. Last time, he climbed up the fire escape of a nearby building and peered through his scope. This time, he scaled up the apartment's fire escape, aiming for the roof access. However, as he neared Steve’s unit, Bucky noticed a white curtain fluttering in and out of an open window.

Was Steve that much of an idiot?

He blew his hair out of his face with an annoyed huff. Bucky tilted his head, focusing his hearing to determine if Steve was home. He couldn’t make out much, except for a nostalgic melody and a yearning voice—nostalgic for a time that could never be. 

_ You went away and my heart went with you _

_ I speak your name in my every prayer _

Bucky reached for the windowsill with both hands, slipping through in one motion, his feet hitting the wooden floor with a loud  _ thud _ . Immediately, the music came to a stop, and cautious footsteps approached him.

“... Bucky?”

His blonde hair was unkempt and his eyes were wide, drinking Bucky in as if he’d been walking through the desert, parched. 

Steve looked like a dream.

It took a few false starts, but Bucky managed to swallow down his anxiety to ask Steve one of the most important questions he could ever ask.

“Is it okay for me to be here?”

“Of course it is,” Steve said without missing a beat. He brought his hand to Bucky’s shoulder, only to pull away before truly making contact. “You must be exhausted. C’mon.”

He motioned for Bucky to follow, leading the way towards the living room. One of the first things Bucky noticed was the mismatched furniture. From what he remembered, he and Steve had bare-bones furniture, meaning that nothing matched. Maybe Steve wanted to recreate that, to have a space that felt like home as much as possible. 

They walked into the bedroom, Steve heading straight for the window. “You can sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch.”

Bucky frowned, then shook his head. “I won’t take your bed from you.”

“Nonsense. Here, we’ll close this.” He drew the curtains closed, making sure they were well covered. “I’ll cover up the other ones, too. Would you rather we keep the bedroom door open or closed while you sleep?” 

He considered this carefully. On one hand, Bucky wanted to hear if someone broke in. But, he wanted to feel secure and not worry about anyone seeing him.

“Can we block the front door?”

Steve nodded. “We can do that.”

“We can leave this door open then.”

“Okay.” He rocked back and forth on his heels, trying to figure out what to say. “Do you want to take a shower before you go to bed? Or are you a morning shower person?”

Bucky scrunched his nose. After being on a plane for so long, he definitely wanted to wash up. But he remembered HYDRA’s “showers,” where they hosed him down like he was nothing. The idea made his stomach twist.

“Showers are…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Bucky hummed. “... baths are okay.” 

Steve sighed in relief. “Okay. The bathroom is right over here.”

Before he followed Steve across the hall, Bucky unclipped his backpack and left it in the bedroom. As he entered the bathroom, he saw that Steve opened up the cabinet and that it was overflowing with small bottles of soaps, oils, and salt. 

“Feel free to use any of these. And don’t worry about the heating bill. You can have the water as warm as you want. I’ll go get you some clothes.”

Bucky twisted the knob for hot water, letting it run and slowly fill the tub. He popped open the cap to the bottles, smelling each one to determine which soap he wanted. Mint. Lavender. Rosemary. Coconut. Honey. He couldn’t even begin to figure out which one he wanted but opted for lavender. That scent was supposed to be relaxing, right? He brought it to the tub and poured some of the soap in, watching as the bubbles foamed.

Steve returned quickly, hugging a bundle of clothes in his arms. “Got you a shirt, sweats, and a towel.” He placed them by the sink, towel on top so Bucky could grab it as soon as he was ready. “Are you hungry?”

Bucky wanted so badly to lie. Steve was already giving him a bed, letting him take a bath, and in general, sheltering him from all conceivable danger. But before he could reject Steve’s offer, his stomach growled, much to his embarrassment. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Steve said with a small laugh. How could a laugh sound so  _ soft _ ? “Craving anything in particular? I can order anything you want.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?”

“All of this,” Bucky said as he waved his hand in a circle. “It’s more than enough.”

“How ‘bout some pizza,” he offered. “Just cheese okay?”

When was the last time he had pizza? He guessed roughly 1939 when he and Steve scrapped up the money to buy two slices and the memory alone made his mouth salivate. He nodded, giving Steve the okay.

“Okay.” He stepped out of the bathroom, hand on the doorknob. “I’ll just be out here in the living room, so give a shout if you need anything. I’ll let you know when the pizza’s here.”

With that, Steve left Bucky to his own devices. One by one, Bucky removed his clothes, thankful that he wouldn’t be stuck in a grimy hotel or tiny apartment—not that this place was lavish. But it felt well-lived in. Comfortable. 

He placed his hand in the water and once it was to his liking, Bucky climbed into the tub, relishing in how the heat eased his sore muscles. He managed to lean back, letting the water completely blanket him to his shoulders. The lavender scent overtook him in the best way, making him  _ feel _ clean for the first time in such a long, long time. Even after taking the time to wash his hair—Bucky was fascinated by the scent of Steve’s shampoo—he just wanted to stay in the tub forever, soaking away. 

But his empty stomach reminded him that at some point, he’d have to leave the cozy bath. 

As soon as the water grew cold, Bucky resigned to his fate and stood up, grabbing the towel so he could dry himself off. After stepping out of the tub he pulled on the plug, letting the water drain, little by little. 

“Buck,” Steve called. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky shouted back. 

He patted at his dripping hair, staring at Steve’s cabinet, taking in as much information as possible. 

So this is the lotion Steve likes.

This is the aftershave he uses.

He doesn’t have a hairdryer. Or hair ties.

Should Bucky cut his hair?

Bucky moved the towel to dry his face. The towel is so soft and still smelled of laundry soap. But as he hung the towel to dry, Bucky glanced at the mirror, taking himself in—particularly the scarring around his left arm. Some of it was from the fall when he came crashing down into the snow. And some were from trying to fight off the fuckers that forced metal arm onto him. The rest of it was anger. Anger that they were doing things to him. Anger that they attached the damn arm and no matter how much he scratched at it or punched away the doctors, they proceeded anyway.

“Bucky?”

Steve sounded closer to the door. 

“The pizza guy is downstairs. Pretty quick, huh?”

_ Fuck _ .

“I can either go downstairs and get the pizza from him or have him come up. What do you think?”

“Oh. Um.” Bucky bit his lower lip. “You… he can up here. Can I stay in here?”

“Of course. I’ll let him know.”

_ It’s okay, it’s okay. _

_ No one’s gonna see you. _

_ He won’t let anyone see you. _

He quickly put on the spare clothes Steve left for him and stared at the floor when he heard the front door open and shut.

“Food’s here.”

_ He won’t let anyone see you. _

With wavering hands, he opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway. Bucky looked around, relieved to see that it was just him and Steve in the apartment. Steve kept his promise to Bucky, locking the front door and blocking it, as well as covered up all the windows. He took long strides to the sofa, sitting down only when Steve said it was okay. Bucky could smell the pizza through the box and once it was opened, he saw that it was still steaming.

“Help yourself,” Steve said, grabbing two slices for himself, as if to show Bucky that it was okay, it was safe.

Bucky’s lips were pressed into a thin line as he picked up a slice. He eyed it, left to right, before finally giving into his hunger. The first bite is utter bliss. It was hot, oozing at the top, crispy at the bottom. It folded perfectly in his mouth and the sauce was perfect with herbs and a hint of sweetness. He devoured the slice, then another, and another and— 

Then it was overwhelming.

He put his plate down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His head hung down in shame, trying to avoid Steve’s gaze.

“Was it too much?”

How did he know? 

Bucky stayed quiet, staring at his now empty plate.

“It’s okay. That’s how I felt when I first had it this century. It’s… a lot, isn’t it?”

For a moment, Bucky wondered if anyone had been this kind to Steve his first year out of the ice. According to the museum, no time had passed. His eyes closed in 1945, only for them to open in 2012. He tried picturing Steve as the confident, stubborn man, but all he could see was Steve from 1936, the year he lost his mother.

“But it’s good,” he says finally.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “It is.”

Maybe it was out of empathy, but Steve stopped eating, too, and put the food away. He offered Bucky some tea to cleanse his palate and settle his stomach, and Bucky graciously accepted. As the evening winded down to a close, Steve changed into sweats, grabbed a blanket and a pillow, then made up the couch for himself. 

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” 

Bucky nodded as he gulped down a glass of water Steve got for him. 

“Thank you, Steve.”

He would owe Steve his life for this temporary solace. As he settled into Steve’s bed, clinging onto the blanket, Bucky thought about what he was feeling. Was it content? Happiness? He wasn’t sure. The last time he felt happy was back in 1940 when he and Steve shared a bottle of hooch and sang along with the radio, earning noise complaints from their landlord. This moment wasn’t close, but it was a start.

★ ★ ★

He was back in Bucharest.

It was another long day at work, and all he wanted to do was splash some water on his face and eat. But when he entered his apartment,  Steve Captain America was there. He was weary, Bucky could tell, with his arms hanging freely at his sides. Bucky gulped as he approached him, only to jump back as Captain America crumpled to the ground. He landed on his side, blood slowly pooling onto the wooden floor. 

“S-Steve?”

He had to stop the bleeding. Bucky crouched down, turning Steve over. His breathing turned ragged as Bucky ran his hand over his stomach, where several bullets dug their way into him, just like that day on the Helicarrier. 

No. 

This couldn’t happen again.

No. 

No. 

Bucky’s eyes screwed shut in hopes that once they opened, all of this would disappear. His lips were trembling and he couldn’t keep his breathing even. This was a nightmare, he  _ knew _ it. It had to be.

“Buh… Bucky…”

A tiny, weak hand gripped onto his shirt.

_ Stop it. _

A sob escaped past his lips as he finally looked at Steve, only to gasp for air. Steve was so small, so young. He was the child from all those years ago. Little Steve Rogers, with a crooked smile and missing tooth. Bucky cradled Steve in his arms, unable to do anything else. Those blue eyes, the same ones he adored as a child, had grown hollow as he stared back in confusion and pain. Steve was dying, and it was all Bucky’s fault.

“W-Why…” Little Steve rasped.

_ I’m sorry. _

“ _ Why? _ ”

Steve struggled to say any more, his mouth thick with blood as Bucky cried out a useless apology.

_ Wake up. _

_ I’m sorry. _

_ Wake up, Bucky. _

_ I’m sorry. _

“Buck, wake up.”

Bucky snapped up, chest heaving and sweat flooding from his pores. No matter how deeply he inhaled, he just couldn’t get enough air. He was dying. He was  _ dying _ . He was— 

“C’mon, breathe with me.”

Steve took Bucky’s hand in his and brought it to his chest, right over his heart. They had done this before, he thinks, when Steve was smaller. Steve’s lungs would be set on fire from the simplest things, and Bucky would anchor him against his chest, trying desperately to match his breathing.

In.

One.

Two.

Three.

Out. 

One.

Two.

Three.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

His fingers dug into the fabric of Steve’s shirt. He needed to know that  _ this _ Steve, here and now, was real. Steve couldn’t be dead. Bucky couldn’t bear it if he was.

“That’s it, there we go,” he said, voice soothing. Steve let go of Bucky’s hand but didn’t care that Bucky kept touching him. “You’re safe, Buck.”

_ But you’re not. _

_ No one’s safe with me. _

“I-I… I’m sorry. I woke you up, didn’t I?”

Steve shrugged. “I had a hard time falling asleep. And I get nightmares, too, remember?” He sat down at the edge of the bed. “Do you need anything? Water?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. It’s. Um.”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

He wanted to keep it in. He really, really did. But Steve kept giving him choices and finally, the water broke through the dam. Tears streamed down his face as he crumpled forward until his forehead touched Steve’s chest—the safest place he could land. He choked back sobs, losing the fight to keep his composure. 

Steve didn’t press for any answers. Instead, he rubbed small circles onto Bucky’s back, reassuring him. He never said that it was okay—it clearly wasn’t but promised that it’d get easier. And Bucky wanted to believe in him. 

“M’sorry,” Bucky hiccuped as he parted from Steve’s now sopping wet shirt. “Causin’ so much trouble for you.”

“No, you’re not.”

Steve’s hands were huge. They’ve punched people out. They’ve fired a gun. They’ve thrown the shield. But they’ve protected, too, and they managed to make Bucky feel so protected as they wiped away his tears.

_ Stay _ , he prayed, not realizing he said it out loud until Steve asked if he was sure.

“Please.”

And how could Steve deny him?

They settled back into the bed, both men shifting until they were both comfortably on their backs. 

Bucky stared straight ahead. He didn’t know this ceiling, but he wanted to. 

“Your mom… her name was Sarah,” he said quietly, voice laced with reverence. He never really thanked Sarah Rogers for bringing Steve into the world. Maybe when he had the courage, he could bring flowers to her grave.

Steve nodded as he shifted onto his side, Bucky turning to meet him. He reached out to place his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, committing to the act this time, but furrowed his brows in worry when he felt Bucky trembling. Were the memories too much, too fast? But before he could say anything, a  _ snicker _ .

“You put newspapers in your shoes,” Bucky managed through his laughter. Although Bucky couldn’t see it, Steve rolled his eyes.

“Four bucks was a lot back then,” he huffed. “It’s not like people were beggin’ me to work for them.”

Bucky shrugged. He couldn’t deny that. He remembered the look on Steve’s face when he came home and told him Mr. Miller let him go. Or was the look on Steve’s face from the time he found out Bucky had slipped some money in his coat pocket?

“I kept askin’ you to let me buy a pair but you were so sore about it.”He could see Steve scowling, with what little natural lighting there was. What a punk.

“Yeah? You were already paying half the rent and buyin’ the groceries. No way in hell was I gonna let you buy me clothes.”

And sometimes, Bucky threw some boxing matches to get money. He hadn’t told Steve then, and probably wouldn’t tell him now.

“You were always sick.”

Bucky didn’t always pray, even when his ma swatted his shoulder, telling him to be thankful. But whenever he thought Steve was on the brink of death, to sleep forever and never wake, he prayed and prayed and prayed. Please, God, don’t take away my beloved. 

“Yeah.”

“We used to playfight and sometimes, I was scared. I didn’t… I didn’t want to break you.”

He almost did once. Steve fell flat on his face, blood running from his nose, staining his shirt. Bucky cried, thinking that Steve’s nose would bleed forever. 

“You can’t break me now.”

But he came really fucking close.

“I  _ hurt _ you. I almost  _ killed _ you.”

Steve heard the pain in his voice, the regret and the shame. 

“I’m…  _ we’re _ still here.” He slid his hand to Bucky’s cheek, thumb running just below his eye. His chest ached with all the love in the universe, and it was all for Bucky. Steve would do anything for him, world be damned. So if that meant spending the rest of his life reassuring him, proving that he was deserving of every good thing life had to offer, so be it. “I don’t know how, but one day, when you looked at me… I felt like I was on fire. And then I knew. You were everything.”

“Steve…”

There it was again. That doubt.

Bucky placed his hand on top of Steve’s, turning his face into his palm, stubble brushing against the callouses, and planted a soft kiss, sighing into Steve’s hand. “I'm not who I used to be.”

“Believe it or not Buck, neither am I.”

That was hard to believe. Steve was the sun, moon and stars. He kept Bucky grounded from the day they met on the playground. He was more precious than life itself. How could he be anything else? 

“But we could live together and figure out who we are.”

Bucky’s heart fluttered in his chest as his breathing stilled. His soul shouted,  _ yes yes yes _ , this was home. This was what he had been missing all this time, and he would be a fool to throw away this chance. Bucky inched closer, moving his hand to the base of Steve’s neck, cradling his head as their lips pressed together. Steve tasted exactly like Bucky dreamt, sweet like warm milk and honey. Like home.

When he pulled away, he suddenly remembered how to smile again.

“I’d like that.”

_ I’m alive. _

Bucky snaked his hand around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer. This was the closest to heaven they would ever be, and Bucky needed to be closer, closer,  _ closer _ — 

“Buck, wait,” Steve panted, fingers pressing into his chest. Was he doing something wrong? He probably was. Maybe Steve didn’t want him like this. Maybe— 

“You have to tell me you want this. I can’t…” Steve pecked Bucky’s cheek. “I don’t want to pressure you.”

_ It’s your choice, Buck. _

Steve was good. Perhaps too good. 

“I need this to be real. Please tell me it’s real.”

_ Show me we’re alive. _

“We’re real. This is real.” Steve lightly shoved Bucky’s shoulder, his intent clear in those eyes that were a beacon in the dark. Bucky allowed himself to roll back as Steve straddled him. At this rate, Bucky was going to come undone without Steve’s touch. “If I do anything you don’t like, tell me.”

He nodded, at a loss for words. There was no concise way he could describe how Steve made him feel. Human. Alive. Wanted. 

Loved.

It was all so much but if Bucky didn’t get any more, he would die.

Threading his hands through Bucky’s long locks, Steve bent down, kissing him and gulping down the desire that was left untouched all those years. Their kisses devolved into nothing but tongue and teeth, marking each other like it was the last thing they were ever going to do. Every touch, every time Steve moaned, Bucky couldn’t get enough. 

But as Steve trailed down Bucky’s neck, tugging at the hem of his shirt, the brunette swiftly grabbed his wrist. 

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “S-Shirt stays on.”

He couldn’t let Steve see. Not yet. He expected Steve to be upset or disappointed. Instead, Steve kissed his temple and drew back a bit. 

“Okay. It stays on.”

Steve flung his own shirt off and leaned over, groping at the drawer of his nightstand, pulling it open and grabbing a bottle of lube.  _ Fuck _ , Steve had that kind of thing? And easily accessible no less? Bucky watched in awe as Steve sat up and pulled his sweats down, just enough to reveal his hardening cock and his perfectly round ass. His mouth watered, wanting to touch Steve forever and ever and god, this is the hardest his cock has been. With his thumb, Steve flipped open the cap and poured a fair amount on his hand, his fingers shimmering. He tossed the lube somewhere beside them as he shifted forward, bringing his slick hand behind him, tracing his own puckered hole. A beautiful moan vaulted from him as a finger breached the tight ring of muscle and Bucky could’ve come then and there just from the sight.

Bucky brought his hands to the base of Steve’s throat, dragging them down his plump chest—good  _ god _ the rack on this man—then over his toned stomach until he reached the thickness of Steve’s thighs. Steve cried out as Bucky pulled his dick out, flesh thumb circling the wet, blunt tip. He forced himself to keep from rutting into Bucky’s hand, only for Bucky to wrap his whole fist around him, squeezing just right as he moved along Steve’s length.

“F-Fuck,” Steve muttered, working another finger inside. “Bucky.”

Hastily, with his free hand, Bucky slipped his hand under his own pants, unsheathing his throbbing cock that longed for  _ anything _ to come in contact with it. And holy mother of hell, when he wrapped his hand around the both of them—warm, hard and  _ desperate _ —Steve shuddered, eyes brimming with tears.

“Buck— _ ah _ —don’t wanna come yet,” he gritted out. “Want you inside.”

Bucky didn’t want to stop touching Steve, but he couldn’t bring himself to go against his wishes either. He released his grip, biting his lower lip as Steve adjusted himself, panting like a dog on a hot day. Steve took hold of Bucky and lined him up with his entrance, making sure to look into his eyes as he lowered down, inch after delicious inch. 

Fuck, this was everything. 

This was  _ right _ .

Steve couldn’t help it. His eyelids fell closed, eyes rolling back as Bucky filled him completely, finding the near-burning stretch so fucking  _ exquisite _ . And Bucky, dear god, thought he was melting. Steve’s velvet heat was swallowing him whole and it was cliched but Bucky was fucking ecstatic that he almost couldn’t tell where he ended and Steve began. His veins were on fire and there would be nothing better than this. 

With a groan in the back of his throat, Steve began to rock his hips, experimental. Both of Steve’s hands were at either side of Bucky, knuckles nearly white from how hard he was gripping the sheets. He knew it’d be easy to find the perfect angle for Bucky to brush against his prostate—god forbid he wanted to feel good after being alone for so fucking long—but this wasn’t about him. This was about making Bucky feel good, reassured, loved, alive. The pace he set was slow and loving, clenching as he dragged up, relaxing as he went down. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, face completely red as he watched Bucky’s mouth fall open and call for him.

“Steve,” Bucky rasped, brows furrowed in pleasure. “Steve,  _ more _ .”

Steve nodded, sitting up straighter as he picked up speed. To help him balance, Bucky offered his hands, heart leaping into his throat when Steve held on, locking their fingers together. The faster and harder he went, the more the headboard bounced against the wall, louder than the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Bucky could feel his orgasm building and building, almost embarrassingly quick but how could anyone expect him to keep it together when Steven Grant Rogers, the love of his life, was riding him like his life depended on it?

“W-Where do you wan’ it,” he grunted, thrusting up to chase the high. And Steve made this sound, higher than his usual register, as his face lit up, lost in delight. If it weren’t for Steve going harder, body writhing to get closer, Bucky would’ve thought he was in pain. But no. Steve was in a euphoric frenzy, and it was Bucky,  _ Bucky _ , who was making him feel that way.

“ _ Inside _ ,” he pleaded, licking his lips before crashing down onto Bucky, tongues smoothing over one another. 

He didn’t need to tell Bucky twice. 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hips, guiding him to move faster as Steve chanted his name like a prayer.  _ Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.  _ He spilled into Steve, air knocked out of his lungs and vision whitening as Steve kept grinding his hips down, his muscles squeezing around Bucky as he came between them, most of it landing on his own abdomen.

After a few deep breaths, Bucky basked in all of Steve’s glory, red from ear to ear, past his shoulders, spreading to his chest. Steve was beaming, smiling bright.

But Bucky didn't want it to be over—not yet. Seeing Steve so perfectly blushed and still reeling in ecstasy was enough for a second wind. He flipped Steve onto his back and sunk into him once more, thrusting with abandon. Steve wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist, hooking his ankles together to keep Bucky from slipping out. Bucky groaned against Steve’s neck as the blonde’s nails dug through the shirt, scratching at him as he cradled Steve in his arms.

“You’re so good,” he whispered, making Steve whine his name. “You’re so fucking good to me, Stevie.

Steve nodded, mouth open but the words just couldn’t come out. There was so much he wanted to say, and he hoped that his kisses could convey what he felt.

I love you. 

I love you.

I love you.

“B-Buck, I’m already close.”

Bucky smirked.  _ Already _ , he wanted to ask. Goddamn, his voice was so breathy and needy, Bucky felt the heat of his own orgasm pooling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Go ahead, Stevie.” His tongue slipped into Steve’s mouth, lips parted, breathing him in. “I got you, like you got me.”

More streaks of white coated Steve’s stomach as he clamped down on Bucky’s cock, tighter than the first time. The sheer pressure trapped Bucky inside, milking him for every drop of come.

Slowly, he pulled out of Steve, in awe of how much was dripping out. 

“Fuck, Stevie,” he murmured, using his thumb to push some of it back in. “Look at all a-that.”

Steve’s hips twitched upwards as Bucky withdrew his fingers. “Buck, i-it’s fuckin’  _ sensitive _ .”

“Yeah, I bet.” He wanted to get up and get some towels to clean them up, but his body refused, collapsing next to Steve in a blissful heap. “We should clean up.”

“We’re pretty gross,” Steve hummed. “But I gotta admit I’m really comfortable right now.” 

He looked at Bucky, then inched closer, even though he was still sticky. Bucky didn’t seem to care much either, since he pulled Steve into his arms. 

“I love you,” he whispered. “I think I loved you back then, too.”

“Love you, too, Buck. Always did.”

Bucky’s mouth stretched open into a yawn as he nuzzled at the crook of Steve’s neck. 

They fell asleep like that, limbs tangled together, breathing each other in. And that was how they remained when the morning sunlight spilled into the room.

Their days would be filled with each other, taking small steps to figure out what it meant to be human.

Bucky still had nightmares. But Steve was there, and that made it easier.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope I did the prompt justice! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are highly appreciated! <3


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